The Nobodies
by nixischan
Summary: Harry has decisions to make about his current lifestyle *Ongoing and epilogue-compliant and the words, not the world, are mine* As always R&R would be appreciated.


The Nobodies

**If you have read my one-shot 'Homecoming' this is an entirely different universe - don't worry, this is not the same Harry**

Chapter 1

A waft of a soft vanilla fragrance made Harry look up from his glass of firewhiskey as a slim form slipped in at the bar next to him. Harry glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Blonde, about 5' 7'', no more than 25 and a killer figure from what he could see. She ordered a Muggle beer, an unusual choice in a place like this. Her voice was pleasant enough, with a slight Scottish accent. She poured the beer into a glass and sat at the bar, her feigned disinterest as bright a sign as any of those up on the street. He'd played this game many times over the last year or so. At 32 he was still an attractive man. He kept in shape and had bulked out over the years. He'd dressed smart, dark shirt and trousers, dark to suit the bar. His hair had stayed black, thankfully, and he'd long since gotten rid of the dreadful fringe he'd once used to cover his scar. The scar was dead now; it might as well be the souvenir of a car crash as he had once been told. It sat like a map of his past on his forehead. It was there every time he looked in the mirror - reminding him of how things used to be, taunting him to feel something, anything. It accused him of having no fire, no passion, of having nothing. Harry didn't look in the mirror much these days. All this didn't stop him making use of the scar when he wanted. Like now.

He knocked back the rest of his firewhiskey and ordered another, deciding as he did so that he was going to make a night of it. He took a sip of the amber liquid, rolling it across his tongue, enjoying the burn. He swallowed and turned to the woman next to him. "That's an interesting choice of drink" he observed casually.

The woman feigned astonishment at his interest and replied, "Just something I've developed a taste for I guess" She turned to face him as she spoke, pulling her blonde hair behind one ear. Harry watched with anticipation as surprise lit up her eyes as she clocked the scar.

"I, oh, I..." she muttered, her hand rising to her neck, toying with a silver necklace.

"Hi, I'm Harry" he offered her his left hand, reading her body language like the morning paper.

"Erm, nice to meet you" she stammered, visibly blushing. She took his hand with her left. He checked, no ring.

It was too easy. Everything was too easy.

Harry watched the sun rise over the city. The windows of the penthouse filled three walls of the enormous room and showed a city gleaming and golden in the early light. The fourth wall of the room supported three doors, behind one of which the girl still slept. She had barely stirred as Harry had slipped out of bed the moment he had awoken. She was snoring softly by the time he had found his trousers. He now stood shirtless and barefoot in the kitchen of the penthouse, drinking a homemade hangover remedy – another gem from Snape's old Potion textbook. The rest of his clothes lay over the back of the expensive-looking white leather sofa – he had removed them from the bedroom, he didn't want to risk waking the girl. Harry's conscience flared and a quick shiver of guilt ran through his body at this concession. Goosebumps rose on his skin. He drained the glass of the foul smelling orange concoction and reached for his shirt.

Within minutes he was dressed and striding through the deserted lobby of the building. He settled his bill with the immaculate receptionist, ignoring her advances and leaving a few galleons on the assurance that the lady asleep in the apartment would receive an excellent breakfast. The numbers on the bill did not register with him, even though the price of one night in that penthouse far outstripped the cost of most family holidays.

It took time for Harry's eyes to adjust as he stepped out of the lobby onto the street. The sun was so low in the sky that down within the skyscrapers it was still a peculiar twilight. The street was all but deserted; even the taxis were at a minimum. Harry began to walk, his first intention was to return to the loft he'd been renting in the city, just a few blocks over but his feet seemed to have other ideas. Giving into the momentary wanderlust he let the city take him were it would. Feeling the smooth form of his wand in the inside pocket of his jacket move against his chest as he walked he knew that there was nothing and no-one in this city that could possibly cause him harm – there wasn't anything in the world that could do that – not anymore. The streets of the city were familiar to him; he'd been here for over a month now. Maybe it was time to move on. Where to though? It didn't really matter – Hermione's regular check-ins would still occur, that fucking silver otter would still appear, asking him if he was okay, if he was eating well, when he was thinking about coming home. Harry could swear that being married to Ron was turning Hermione into her mother-in-law.

Even though the morning was uncommonly warm Harry shivered at the thought of Mrs. Weasley. The woman had been a vicious ball of maternal fury the last time he had seen her. Accordingly to Molly Weasley the divorce had been Harry's fault entirely and the fact that Ginny had been the one to file had absolutely nothing to do with that. Ginny… yet another reason he didn't want to go back. What was left there for him? Weeks filled with work and every other weekend there would be scheduled visits, visits book-ended with those inevitable awkward conversations between him and Ginny, standing on the doorstep of the Burrow, not knowing what to say, Mrs Weasley's imposing figure lurking in the background. He'd gotten away from that and didn't want to go back. That wasn't a life, or at least not one he wanted. What did he want? To be happy? Harry hated asking himself that question, and yet it was always the question his mind brought up. He had been happy… surely. Good job, beautiful wife, lovely children, that was happy right? Yes, yes it was. Harry had been happy, but it wasn't what he wanted. Ginny standing the doorway of the study, tears rolling down her freckled cheeks as she asked for a divorce, had thrown that into sharp relief. He hadn't cared, not really. He'd signed the papers, quit his job and left the country in a matter of weeks. And for what? Was what he had now really better? Going where he pleased, spending his evenings in dark bars, living off the fortune that, after a few lucky investments, his parents financial legacy had turned into. Harry was getting sick of this circular logic. Nights like last night and girls like that girl helped break the never-ending cycle, but only for the briefest of moments.

In the time it had taken Harry to go round the same thoughts in his head five times, he had walked three blocks and the sun had risen far enough that the street was fully illuminated. The sun shone off the windows of the skyscrapers and straight into his eyes. It was decidedly unpleasant; it seemed as if the hangover remedy hadn't been up to its usual standard. Wanting to settle the awful churning of his stomach Harry decided to find some breakfast.


End file.
